what do you understand this to mean as a matter of careful construing—is not made a study among the Japanese in acquiring a liberal education.
For myself, I do not hesitate to say that if I had forgotten all I ever knew of the Greek language and of the Greek literature, its study would still be worth double the time it cost in making me able to sit down with a good book, in whatever language written, and let its author tell me just what was in his mind and on his heart. I insist upon it that the practical consequences of retiring the study of the classical languages from the curriculum of a liberal education will be something quite incalculable in the way of wresting from those who call themselves cultured the key to every form of good literature.
It would scarcely seem necessary to argue that a somewhat wide acquaintance with, and fondness for, good literature is a necessary part of a truly liberal education. For theoretically few indeed are found ready to dispute this truth. But, in my opinion, this is one of the truths most likely at the present time to be left practically out of the account in making up our estimate of the studies indispensable to such an education. There is reading enough done—there is far too much reading done—by the multitude of the people and by the so-called educated classes. And of the making of many books, the gross, materialistic, sordid manufacture of something to be read—something, no
